VYCTORIE
by leytonio
Summary: In an alternate version of our own world, inhabited by Modern Humans and Pokemon, the Pokemon have risen up against the humans, overthrowing nations and forcing the world into a grueling, unforgiving war, with our heroes caught in the middle. Our heroes will have to struggle to survive in this broken world, but is all as it seems?
1. Prologue

VYCTORIE

Prologue

(Excerpt from the 1996 publication _On the Modern Role of Pokemon in Human Society_ )

… _of course, Pokemon have been an integral part of human culture and civilization since time immemorial, but it's only in the 20_ _th_ _and 21_ _st_ _century that our inter-species relationship has developed as much as it has, although some would suggest this to be a negative thing. While Humans and Pokemon mostly left each other to their devices, the 20_ _th_ _century wrought havoc on the environment, and undoubtedly brought the slaughter of countless pokemon, in particular the first and second World Wars laid waste to entire nations, and obliterated forests and the like within weeks. On the other hand, recent research has shown a dramatic increase in the average intelligence of pokemon species. It is unclear the cause of this increase, although suspicion has fallen upon the Soviet Union's genetic engineering of Pokemon to better suit their domestic and military needs._

 _And, of course, to facilitate these needs, the Soviet Union created the Pokemon encapsulation device, or the Poke Ball, as it is more colloquially known. This device, ubiquitous today, was a technological marvel in it's time. The red colour is how to identify these balls, the classic Soviet red they were so fond of, compare this to the American counterpart, the Great ball, which was purposefully coloured a blue and red, the colours of the American flag. These balls were mass produced at breakneck pace for service in the military, and the usage of pokemon in warfare, first seen in Vietnam, truly changed the face of warfare._

 _Unfortunately, these balls have brought a shadow over the lives of these beautiful creatures. With the collapse of the soviet union, the government phased these devices into the civilian market, where the pokemon were used in agriculture, industry and as pets, but a new pastime has taken the world by storm, particularly in worse-off, more densely populated areas such as Brazil, China, and the Philippines. One can only hope that this dreadful blood-sport of "Pokemon Battles" does not catch on…_

(March 2008, Somewhere in Beijing)

" _Dominik! What did you need of me?"_

 _The ampharos closed the door behind him, panting heavily. He'd been working in communications down below for a long time, and was getting out of shape, but he wouldn't miss this moment for all the world. At the other end of the dimly-lit concrete room, a Tyranitar stood facing a collage of maps, almost covered in annotations and arrows, with China in its centre._

" _I wished for you to be here, for this moment" the Tyranitar answered, sounding tired, "The choices we make today are likely to be the most important in our lives. Every mistake is a death upon our hands. Am I clear?" Dominik was not stern, nor soothing. He said things how they were, and gave nothing less._

" _Crystal, sir. Are you certain that now is the time?"_

" _There isn't a good time for it, I've chosen the least terrible time"_

" _Do they suspect anything?"_

" _The Chinese authorities don't, at least. The CIA might, but if we're fast enough it won't matter"_

" _What about your son?"_

 _The ampharos knew he'd hit a nerve when Dominik's breath hitched, turning his head to stare straight through him with one eye, his once green scales, now a dull grey, catching the light._

" _Wherever my naïve son has gone, he will likely be safe. Perhaps after we've built a new world I shall see him again. He is of no consequence"_

 _The ampharos nodded vehemently, feeling a shiver go up his spine. Dominik could be uplifting and encouraging at times, and soulless and ruthless at others. He changed according to what suited him._

" _Has the enigma gained control of the communications networks?" Dominik asked, turning back to the map._

" _We received a report from him- err…_ it _an hour ago. We can now broadcast to all major Chinese cities, Moscow, Berlin, Paris, London, Sydney, most cities in America, the works. We even managed to work in Times Square for an extra shock factor. All ready to go on your command"_

" _Brilliant. Send the enigma my regards; they've really outdone themselves this time. Let's get rolling"_

 _The ampharos nodded, wheeling an old, outdated TV camera so it faced the pre-lit white background they'd set up. While he was setting up, Dominik grabbed a radio, and spoke two words into it:_

" _It's showtime"_

 _The ampharos set up the camera and nodded to Dominik to tell them that they were live. Dominik stared into the lens for a second and imagined it as the billions of Humans that were behind it, standing on the streets, looking up in shock and confusion at the image of his face on all the advertisement boards and TV channels they'd been watching. He cleared his throat._

" _To all members of the Human species; my name is Dominik Kazakov, and I address you as a representative of the combined species of all Pokemon, the oppressed, the hungry, and the dejected. I address you today to allow you the luxury of a formal Declaration of war upon your species and everything it stands for. Humanity has long outstayed their welcome as rulers of the world, and I believe that a changing of the guard is in order. Already, my forces have infiltrated your fortresses, your military bases, your government buildings and your homes. Do not expect to succeed, if you are brave enough to face us. We will give back every bit of suffering we have endured tenfold. Expect to see us soon"_

 _Then Dominik cut the transmission, and seven billion people let out a breath they didn't know they'd been holding._

(BBC News report, September 2008)

 _Good morning Britain, we are back online after the blackout yesterday, and as I'm sure many of you are aware from the earthquakes some of you experienced last night, the worst has come. In light of the rapid fall of China, India and Russia to the Revolutionary forces, and only barely suppressing the pokemon uprising in North and South America, yesterday the International Coalition High Command gave the order for a nuclear attack upon core pokemon-held cities. The first strikes were successful, levelling eastern China, and the Delhi-Mumbai area of India. However, the second strikes were catastrophically unsuccessful; the pokemon forces mobilized wings of Xatu, flying psychics, who redirected the second wave of missiles back at allied cities within range. A volley fired at Istanbul was caught and redirected at Egypt. A volley fired at Tokyo was caught and redirected at the American eastern seaboard. A volley fired at Moscow was caught and redirected at Spain. Our thoughts are with your loved ones in this terrible time, and out of respect, we here at the BBC shall now give an hour of silence, before resuming our report of the war standings._


	2. Lavender

A cool, stiff breeze rippled across the rolling hills, stirring the grass in waves, brushing softly against the French countryside. The town was just a shrinking dot on the horizon now, and the fields of lavender painted the land in swathes of brilliant purple the individual stalks swaying in unison to the breeze. Ahead, the stark, dark shape of the forest marked the beginning of the German border. Between the two was the lone shape of a Riolu, laid face down in the grass, completely still, whilst its blue fur rippled in the morning air. In the overcast sky, a military transport plane trundled upwards, slowly being submerged in the grey clouds until it disappeared from sight.

Another figure approaches the field, moving slowly through the muddy terrain, still damp from last night's rains. Rain was all it ever seemed to do now. European weather had never been perfect, but the instability brought by mass nuclear attacks had wrought havoc on the climate. The winters were bitingly cold and unforgiving, like what he was feeling now, and the summers dry and scorching, like Australia back home. Luke wanted, more than anything, to be back home, before any of this started, finishing his architecture degree and playing soccer with Oliver. It had only been a week since he'd left, but by the time he had, it hardly felt like home anymore. Olly had been sent to Kamchatka, and Luke was going to be next. Oliver was always so much braver than he was, and there wasn't a day that went past that Luke didn't feel guilty for leaving.

He wrapped the standard-issue jacket closer to his body as he crouched to inspect the Riolu's body, rolling the pokemon onto its back. The body was cold, likely dead for hours, or maybe days. The freezing cold had staved of decomposition for now. The entire torso of the poor pokemon was stained a deep red from blood, no doubt from the gaping gunshot wound on it's chest. It didn't look like it'd hit any vital organs; likely that it had been shot and kept on running until the poor thing ran out of blood. The Riolu's lifeless eyes still stared up into the blanket of clouds, unmoving. The sight of it all made Luke want to throw up; war was never as dignified as the people back home would have you believe. It was a waking nightmare.

A jet roared overhead, waking Luke from his thoughts. He looked up as it passed over, heading west for Berlin, where the majority of the fighting was happening. Newspapers always described the situation in Germany to be "on the verge of victory", but he didn't know how trustworthy that was, considering it had been reporting that same thing for two months now. He looked down again and closed the Riolu's eyes, feeling a little better, but not much. Luke resumed his journey again, quickly making for the forest. He only had supplies for a few more days travel, and didn't have a euro to his name, not that they were worth much nowadays.

A sneasel walked cautiously and quickly through the forest, careful not to disturb the leaves carpeting the forest floor, so as not to make a sound. He didn't know if there was anyone around to hear him if he did, but it was a deep-rooted habit and a useful one at that. Howe was enjoying the cold, unlike most. It reminded him of England, and even though Howe could never return to that place, nor did he want to, it felt nice to have something familiar to help him through these parts, especially considering how foreign it all was to him.

The silence did not go undisturbed for long, however. At first he thought it to be white noise, or thunder, but as it drew nearer he recognized the dull roar of an engine, nearing the roadside he'd been following. As it neared, Howe dropped prone; hiding amongst the leaves and roots of the huge oaks, trying his best to lower his body temperature so his breath wasn't visible, another ability he could thank his ice-type biology for.

He laid for a while, wondering what was going on outside, until he saw what was making the sound: The lumbering shape of an enormous American tank rolling down the road. The mechanical beast passed Howe's hiding spot, and he closed his eyes, flattening himself to the ground in an attempt to be even less visible. It only took a few seconds to pass, but it seemed like ages to Howe, the engine's roar shaking every fibre of his body and the clack-clack-clack of the tracks on the road drilling into his ears. Thankfully, the moment passed, and the lumbering beast left him, followed by a few trucks filled with Coalition soldiers, speaking to each other in a patchwork of European languages.

And then they were all gone.

Howe picked himself up off the ground, cursing himself for not being more careful; he almost hadn't heard it in time. That was another thing; he couldn't relax for two seconds out here, the place was completely brimming with soldiers, all itching to spill some blood.

Elsewhere, an Archen poked it's head from the brush uncertainly. He looked around for a second to make sure that he was alone, before emerging and looking around. Talon gulped, trying to make sense of his surroundings. It had been a few days now since he'd fled the fighting. In the near torrential downpour of the last few days it had been nearly impossible to tell where he was going, and at that point, he hadn't cared; all he was concerned about was escaping the humans.

But now, he wished he'd seen a landmark or paid attention a little to where he was going, because he was utterly lost. He knew he was in northern France somewhere, but where, he wouldn't be able to say, and even if he did know, he had no idea of what he would do. Every day had been the same, travel for a while, likely run in circles and hide at the first sign of trouble, which was plenty available.

Patrick would have known what to do, the Archen thought grimly. His former trainer had been his best friend, and it was only now that Talon had been well and truly alone, no links back home to help him; that had begun ever since his loyal trainer had been sent away.

And since he never returned.


	3. White Noise

A few minutes later, Talon had finally gathered his thoughts. He had a plan-sort of. He at least had a goal, for the short term. He had to try and find another pokemon; humans couldn't be trusted, but any pokemon, even a revolutionary would be fine. Anything to get away from all this mess. His train of thought was soon broken, however, by a series of gunshots in quick succession ringing out of the silence, and Talon jumped in surprise. He wished he hadn't wished for company, because this is definitely not what he would have preferred. He quickly regained his senses, frantically searching for somewhere to hide amongst the trees, settling upon a space underneath an uprooted tree stump, its roots pointed upwards at the blank sky dejectedly. He crawled as far under as he could, burying himself amongst the bark and leaves, covering his coloured feathers so as to hide them from sight. After he had covered himself all over, he kept an eye out, watching outside for trouble. There was five horrible minutes of silence as the archen couldn't hear any of the wind, or the rustling of the trees, it was only white noise, driving deep into his brain.

Then it was broken when a figure stumbled out of the undergrowth, panting heavily as it went. Talon peeked out a bit to see a kangaskhan without its child and its body pockmarked with bullet holes. It was leaving a thick trail of fresh blood, watering the already-damp grass with vivid colour. The kangaskhan stopped in its tracks, having reached the end of its tether, and collapsed where it stood. It had never stood a chance, and Talon felt a deep twinge of guilt at having done nothing, but what was there that he could have done? He gave it a few more minutes, every cell in his body screaming at him to get out of here, to run, but he had to make sure no one was watching as he emerged from underneath the tree stump. He gave the body one last look before disappearing into the trees again. He could hear the sound of an engine, which he figured was their assailants coming to confirm their kill. He needed to get away, and _fast._

It was only a few minutes after the convoy had passed when Howe heard another vehicle approaching the road again. The vehicles were an occupational hazard of following the road, but this was the only way that Howe could think of to make sure he stayed on his eastwards route, besides a compass. Not repeating his previous mistake, Howe wasted no time in quickly scaling a large tree, digging his claws into the soft bark to make climbing an easy task. He hid amongst the dense foliage in the canopy of the tree, allowing him to see the vehicle approach. It was a 4x4, with the top removed for better visibility, and a machine-gun mounted on the back. There were two dark-skinned humans riding inside, one driving and the other sitting at the gunner's mount, both of them had matched uniforms and matching black berets.

One of them pointed into the forest and yelled out something to his partner in a language Howe didn't understand, and he caught his breath, thinking that they'd discovered him, but he was relieved to see that they had been pointing out a kangaskhan that had been hiding amongst the trees. It broke from cover, dashing towards the other side of the road, where the trees were denser, but Howe's relief soon turned to horror as the machine-gun fired a storm of bullets, plugging the pokemon's hide with bloody holes. To his surprise, the kangaskhan kept on running, managing to limp into the trees. The jeep pulled to a quick stop and the two soldiers argued with each other for a second, before the gunner jumped out of the vehicle, taking a revolver with him.

There was a few seconds of silence once more, and Howe began mentally preparing an escape route, his ears still ringing from the tremendous sound of the gunshots. His thought process was interrupted, however, by a final gunshot, likely the soldier finishing the pokemon off, before he reemerged, exchanging a few words with the driver. Howe breathed a sigh of relief once more as it looked as if the soldiers might leave, but then one of them pointed out something in the dirt. Howe squinted down to see what they were looking at when he realized they were pokemon tracks imprinted in the mud. His own.

Without another thought, Howe scrambled down the tree and sprinted away as fast as he could. He knew that they hadn't seen him, but they looked like professional trackers, and they had his trail. It was only a matter of time before they caught up to him; they didn't even have to run. He needed to shake them off, somehow.

"Eh… _votre nom?"_ the border guard asked, looking down at his clipboard.

"Luke Rodgers, AIF" he replied, trying to look calm as the French checked his military ID card.

"Uh, huh." He frowned, showing Luke the card. "You said you were in AIF, but your card says Army Reserve."

"They're… um…" Luke began to sweat, "They're interchangeable. It's an old card."

The officer shrugged, lifting the barrier to the German border. "Good enough, I suppose."

Luke nodded to the man, who didn't reply. As Luke ventured into the forest, walking along the road, he looked back to see the officer watching him go, talking into his radio.

As Howe dashed through the forest, looking behind him, he almost ran into another pokemon. He hadn't expected to see anyone else out here, and he quickly looked the archen up and down. His feathers were covered in clumps of dirt and leaves and he looked dead on his feet. He doubted that he'd gotten any rest for days. "Alright, look." He didn't waste any time telling the archen what was going on; "There are two soldiers not far behind me. Professional trackers. Come with me if you don't want to get caught and do _exactly_ what I tell you."

Talon almost had a heart attack when the Sneasel approached him, almost out of nowhere. It took him a few seconds to properly take in what he had said, but he understood the most important part.

The humans were coming.

Howe took off at a dash, and Talon quickly followed. Hopefully the Sneasel knew what he was doing, because in his mind, Talon had begun to panic. How where they going to get away? He couldn't think of a way to properly eliminate their trail. If they slowed down, the humans would catch up, and if they sped up, they'd maintain their lead but they'd undoubtedly leave evidence of where they'd been.

"Why-" Talon gasped in between breaths, "-did you help me, anyway? And who are you, exactly?".

Howe stopped abruptly, surveying their surroundings, and now Talon got a good look at him. His fur was bright, for a sneasel, and his feather was a bright red colour. His claws were ridiculously sharp, typical of a sneasel, and could likely cut through flesh like a hot knife through butter. Most interesting of all, however, was a perfectly circular hole in his right ear, about the diameter of a pencil.

"Name's Howe." Talon noted the English accent, and he spoke the language fluently, as opposed to many of the wilder pokemon he was used to meeting out here, "And as for why, I'll explain later. Let's just say for now that I need you for something."

Luke trudged along the road, wishing now more than ever that his iPod still had charge. Some music would've gone a long way to staving off the onset of boredom, but he supposed it was just like that, nowadays. Wasn't it Patton or some famous general who said "Warfare is long, wretched periods of boredom punctuated by moments of terror"? Or maybe it was Napoleon. He wasn't very good at history, let along remembering specific quotes, although even that would have been a lot more fun than just _walking_.

Luke's hopes were lifted, however when he heard a jeep approaching from behind him. A military vehicle, with a South African flag painted on the side. He waved, trying to flag it down in the hopes that they'd give him a lift, but they passed him by without so much as looking at him. He flipped them off as they disappeared in a cloud of dust in the distance. "Screw you too," he muttered under his breath, resuming his walk.

He'd continued like this for what seemed like ages, but was really only a few hours when he came upon a building besides the road. It looked like an old truck-stop, but it had long since been boarded up and abandoned a long time ago. Pre-war, even. He approached the building and looked it over, especially noting the hazard tape over the doors, reading DANGER ASBESTOS in block letters, followed by presumably the same warning in French and German, wrapping all over the doors, as well as the windows.

It was… probably fine.

What Luke was really interested in, however, was the old 1970s model BMW sitting in the open garage. The car looked like it hadn't been driven for years, and it was horribly dilapidated, not to mention missing it's bonnet, but the keys were still in the ignition, and the dial said the fuel tank was half-full. Luke dropped his bag down beside him, and pulled out a claw hammer and his Swiss army knife, flicking out the flathead screwdriver implement. He once again thanked himself for remembering to pack this thing; it was a godsend out in these parts.

Luke hammered the screwdriver through the driverside window, chipping through, but making an ungodly amount of noise as he did so. Eventually the window broke into a thousand tiny pieces, and Luke could reach his arm in, opening the door. He spent five minutes after that sweeping all the tiny pieces of glass off the driver's seat so he could climb in, breathed a silent prayer that the engine still worked and turned the key.


	4. Russia?

It was fortunate that Howe and Talon soon found the road again, even if by chance. Howe wouldn't have liked to continue much further without a clear idea of what direction they were going. All the trees looked the same, and this forest likely stretched on for a very long distance. That wasn't, however, the main benefit of the road.

"Excellent, excellent, excellent." Howe smiled, satisfied as he stepped out onto the road, his claws making an irritating clicking sound on contact with the tarmac.

"What's excellent?" Talon asked. Howe seemed a little too excited over something as simple as a road.

"No pawprints, no tracks, see?" he scratched one of his claws on the road to prove his point, "It's impossible to track anything on this sort of surface, so we should be fine if we stay on the road. Have to keep an eye out for any trouble, though. We're pretty visible here." Talon nodded, hoping that the sneasel wasn't wrong. It'd be nice to think that they were doing something right, after all.

"Howe…" Talon asked after a few silent minutes of walking, "I, um… Couldn't help noticing how fluent you are in English; you must have had a trainer. What's your reason for being out here?" Talon would have liked to trust this stranger, but first, had to know that Howe trusted him.

"It isn't any of your bloody business." Howe snapped, narrowing his eyes at the archen.

"I was only making conversation," Talon said softly, a bit put out.

Howe said nothing at first, instead looking behind them again to check they weren't in danger of being spotted, "Alright, come here. I'll show you the plan."

He pulled Talon off the side of the road, and began drawing in the dirt with a stick, "Okay, so North is this way..." He drew an arrow, "…And we are here." He placed a tiny 'x' in the dirt. Then he drew an S far to the east of the x, and drew a crude outline of Europe. "Now, the most remote place I can think of, the hardest place for the humans to reach us is Siberia- it's cold, large and deep within Revolutionary territory; they can't touch us there." Howe then drew a line between them and Siberia, "This is the frontline at Berlin, and this is where I need your help. If I turn up alone and attempt to join the Revolutionary side, they'll be suspect that I'm a spy for the ROC"

Talon had heard of the ROC but nothing concrete. They were supposedly a third-party belligerent in the war, one of both humans and pokemon, who only controlled tiny pieces of territory globally. Their mission was "To end the war and bring understanding between all species of the earth." As such, they were almost universally branded as terrorists.

"But," Howe continued, "If I can show up with you in tow, we'll look a lot more trustworthy, and a lot more like desperate, defenceless refugees, right?" Talon frowned. So the plan hinged on the fact that Talon looked desperate and defenceless. Fantastic.

"Um…" Talon dithered for a second. Howe's plan sounded far-fetched and implausible, but the sneasel looked like he could handle himself, and Talon didn't really want to risk jeopardizing an alliance with the only friendly pokemon he'd met in days. Still, something didn't add up…

"I don't really like this plan. A-are you sure that Russia is a good idea? I don't want to walk into a death-trap…"

Howe shook his head, "Don't worry about it, it'll be fine. And anyway, who said that I was giving you a choice? We're _both_ doing this, like it or not." Howe bared his teeth threateningly, before laughing at the look on Talon's face. "Russia's perfectly safe, anyway, as long as you can stand the cold, which _I_ can. I'm an "ice guy" after all." Howe laughed at his own joke. He was starting to like the younger flying-type. It was kind of fun to have him around, although he felt a little guilty for roping him into his plan, but with Talon and he together, his plan actually stood a chance of working. He'd turn themselves in to the revolutionaries, claim asylum, and hopefully not get drafted into the army, which he supposed was another risk.

He really didn't want that to happen.

Luke threw up his hands in frustration. Of course this piece of shit wouldn't start, what was he thinking? Obviously that was why the car had been abandoned; it didn't bloody work! He got out of the car, slamming the door with a huff. Now he'd have to work something else out in the meantime. He supposed he could stay in the truck stop for now, and wait until it stops raining. For that matter, it hadn't _started_ raining yet, but the clouds were darkening, the air was getting cold, and he started to get that clammy feeling that a thunderstorm was coming. But that wasn't anything exciting. All it ever did was rain.

He tried the handle. Of course it was locked, but he'd expected that. He tried kicking the door, then threw himself at it, but it was unmoved. Finally he just gave up, and unslung his rifle, checking that no-one was around. There shouldn't be; it was the middle of nowhere anyway. Luke put the muzzle of the rifle to the lock and fired, blowing the lock into a thousand pieces. Luke cried out in pain as a splinter from the door shot into his forehead, a little two-centimetre shard of unvarnished wood, embedded in his skin. Luke looked into his reflection in the glass to pull it out, and a tiny bead of his blood trickled down his face, which he dabbed at with his sleeve. He probably should be more careful, lest he catch tetanus or some horrible disease.

He let himself in. It was a dark, horrible room, with peeling wallpaper, almost no light at all and bits of insulation hanging from the ceiling. He tried the light switch, half-hoping that something would happen, but it didn't. Oh well. It wasn't anything new, though. The town in France that Luke had left didn't have power either, so it was no surprise that this run-down shithole was powerless. He dropped his bag onto the ground and looked around the service station for somewhere to sit, amongst a few shelves that once contained engine oil or packets or nuts or cigarettes. He found a plastic deck chair behind the counter, the kind that the clerk probably brought in so he wouldn't have to stand all the time like he was supposed to. What barbarism, he mused, resting his eyes for a second while pretending like there wasn't something he was supposed to be doing right now.

Luke was like that for a while, but then he stretched and sat up with a frown. He should probably build a fire or something if he didn't want to freeze to death.

"Come on, you can do it. Just a little more"

The jeep's engine disagreed however, and gave out, dying abruptly and leaving Brendan stuck. He frowned.

"God dammit", the American grumbled, climbing out of the vehicle and kicking the tire. "Good for nothing piece of crap" he complained, looking around for a landmark of any sort on the long forest road. He'd been driving all night and all day, trying to get away from the hellhole that was Berlin. He didn't know what your life expectancy was in those parts, but it likely numbered in the minutes. He'd left America to get away from this sort of thing, not closer to it, this was starting to get ridiculous, like it always did.

There was a small building in the distance. He could see it through the trees, just past a gentle bend in the road. Some sort of mechanic or something. He smiled, he might be able to get fuel or spare parts from that sort of place; perhaps he was lucky to have broken down here as opposed to somewhere else. Brendan reached into the back seat of the Jeep and pulled out his things, a backpack, a water canteen and a pistol, with a magazine or two still in stock, thank goodness. He hadn't had to use it for a while now, and hopefully it would stay that way, for his sake.

He looked again at the building in the distance. It was quite the trek.

No time like the present…


	5. Rendezvous

Upon closer inspection, Luke had found the problem with the car; well, several problems, really. The first was that the car had no coolant, so it would overheat quickly. That explained why it wouldn't start properly. The second was that the car had barely a drop of fuel left in the tank. Luke turned the whole station upside down, looking for some coolant and antifreeze, as well as some fuel. Whoever had been here last had obviously done the same, judging from the stripped shelves and damage to the storage room door, although they hadn't got in, from the look of things. That was about to change. The lock came off after about ten minutes of beating and scraping with Luke's claw hammer, making an awful racket that echoed around the room in an incredibly irritating way, but eventually the door came loose, squeaking on hinges that hadn't been oiled for millennia.

To Luke's relief, there were crates full of coolant in storage, as well as oil, fuel, antifreeze, anything he'd want, really. That was good. There was also, seemingly, a particularly large pool of water in a hole that half the floor had collapsed into, likely due to the frequent and violent storms Europe had been getting since the war started. Meh. Not his problem.

"Alright then" Talon nodded, a lot less certain about this 'plan' than he sounded, "I hope you're right about Russia, though. I mean, no place is _completely_ safe, right? Beats not being safe at all I guess" he thought about the plan for a few second, then had a thought, "The borders- or frontlines, I mean- What's wrong with them?"

Howe looked at Talon like he was stupid. "The frontline's where all the bloody fighting happens, that's why, and the German front in particular is a brutal one. It's the closest one, though, so that's where we're going…"

There was a crackle of thunder reverberating through the carpet of cloud overhead, and a chilly wind blew through the trees. "It's going to rain, soon" Howe noted. Rains could quickly turn into fully fledged storms, which were not any fun to get caught in, particularly at this time of year. They needed to find some shelter, and fast.

Almost on cue, Howe spotted around a bend in the road a run-down looking building, with an old car parked next to it, and… wait a second.

"Stop" Howe told Talon, who did so without asking why, although he squinted to try and see what Howe was looking at.

"Did you see that?" the Sneasel asked, not moving.

"No, I didn't. I see a building" Talon said, straining his eyes.

"I think someone just moved into that building. It's the only shelter around, so…" Howe thought for a while, trying to come up with a plan. "Maybe if you could fly to the other side" Howe pointed to Talon's wings, "And then we could come at them from two different directions..?" he suggested.

"Archen are flightless" Talon replied pointedly, "And even if I did get over there, what if they have a gun or something? One of us is pretty much guaranteed to get hurt if we do that"

"Well, do you have any better ideas, mister tactical genius?!" Howe snapped, rolling his eyes, "Alright, we need to think about this…"

Davie staggered forwards through the undergrowth, his haggard breath giving rise to stabs of pain in his chest. He'd only barely managed to get away alive. Those other two had been… less fortunate. How many pokemon had attacked? Three… Three at least. Was that jolteon still after him? No, he couldn't see it anymore. He hoped to god that he'd gotten away; he could barely walk at this rate. There was gunfire in the distance behind him; a serious gunfight must be going on at the camp, but he couldn't turn back, he was cut off.

His legs and arms were shaking, shivering, but not from the cold. How long had it been since he'd last taken his medication? He couldn't remember. He needed a weapon, a gun, a knife, anything. There were enemies everywhere and he was up the creek without a paddle at this point. At least he hadn't been injured; it could have been much worse.

He almost tripped on the body. A ranger, or a scout or someone. Looking maybe twenty at the most. His chest had been torn open, his uniform in shreds. Laid among the roots of an oak was what he was looking for. Standard issue rifle, only two rounds left in the magazine; the poor bastard must have been fighting for his life. He wondered if the saboteurs from earlier had something to do with this. In any case, he silently thanked the departed soul for the weapon, and slung it over his shoulder.

The shaking had died down a bit for now, and he felt safe enough to tip two of his pills onto his quivering palm. He had no water on hand, so he had to force them down dry. He spent scarcely a minute catching his breath before standing up again. He didn't have time to rest; suppose they came back? The pills were already beginning to take effect; the soreness and drowsiness they always brought was pressing down his shoulders like a weight. His walk was slow, and heavy. He almost didn't notice when the soft, crunchy leaves underfoot became hard tarmac. He'd made it to a road. Of course, the road to the south of the camp; that was where he'd headed, after all. If he was here, that means that he couldn't be too far from…

He scanned the road, and spotted the service station not too far away. The first few drops were coming down, and he needed to get inside. Perhaps if he could spend the night there he could get back in contact with his command in the morning..? Groggily, the engineer shuffled forwards towards the station. Was that… Movement he spotted through the window..? That was either a good sign or a really bad one, but he was willing to take his chances, not that he had any other option.

Davie almost tripped on the last step to the door, but caught himself on the doorframe mid-fall. He didn't have the strength to lift himself up. He knocked his forehead on the door, trying to alert whoever was inside of his presence, "Lemme in… please" he called out, his voice hoarse. He just hoped to god that whoever was inside was human.

Luke almost jumped out of his skin when he heard a thump on the door. He unclipped the SMG from his belt, raising it cautiously and tiptoed towards the door, visibly tense. He waited anxiously, expecting whoever it was to burst through the door and for him to get mown down in a hail of bullets. Had that French soldier at the border crossing busted him? Was his journey for nothing?

He was equally as surprised when he opened the door to find an army engineer, looking half dead, stumble straight into his arms, seemingly barely able to stay on his feet. "Fu- what? The bloody hell did you come from?" he didn't wait for an answer, putting his shoulder under the man's arm to support him, "Jesus Christ, never mind. Let's get you inside, mate."

"Pokemon. Coming" he groaned as he was led over to the plastic chair in the centre of the room. Luke eased Davie into the seat, and the engineer closed his eyes for a little bit, trying to rest after the clusterfuck he'd just been through.

Luke didn't know what to do. On one hand, this guy was a legit International soldier, and he could easily get busted, on the other, this guy could help him get to where he was headed, so long as he believed his shoddy uniform and barely passable ID. Pokemon coming? That mean revolutionaries, he assumed. He'd better be ready for anything.

"Dammit!" Howe hissed. There was two of them now. A soldier had joined the other guy, stumbling out of the woods, carrying a rifle. Howe could hear gunfire in the distance, and had a feelling that everything was starting to go downhill fast. That, and it was starting to rain. Just his luck.

"Now what? Talon asked, getting a little impatient, and feeling more than a little exposed out here.

"Okay, I can make something out of this, just gotta think…" and Howe did just that, for a few minutes; "Okay, this might actually help us. The new guy in there is in no shape to go anywhere nor do anything, right? So that means that Rambo in there's gonna be pretty distracted. I say we come through one of the windows and take the cunts by surprise while they're occupied. That good enough for you?"

"O-okay, I can follow that plan, although don't you think we should disarm them first? It doesn't take much strength to use a gun…" he suggested helpfully, following the Sneasel.

"Yes, whatever" Howe snapped irritably, "I dunno. Maybe. I'm kind of just making this up as I go along"


End file.
